I almost d!ed by epilepsy and my boyfriend kept watching from a distance to maintain his reputation among his friends. My name is Rachel and I’m 24 years old. The moment I’m about to tell you about happened six months ago, but it changed everything about how I see people, relationships, and what I’m actually worth.

I was at Tyler’s apartment. Tyler was my boyfriend of 2 years. Tall, charming, always knew what to say to make me feel special when we were alone. His friends were over that night. There were maybe eight or nine people crammed into his living room, all drinking, laughing, playing some card game I didn’t understand.

I wasn’t really part of their group. I never had been. Tyler always said I was too quiet for them, too serious. He said it like it was cute, but looking back, I think he meant it as a warning. I’d had epilepsy since I was 16. Most people didn’t know. I didn’t advertise it. My seizures were controlled with medication, and I’d only had maybe three or four bad episodes in the last few years.

I always felt this weird shame about it, like my brain was broken in a way that made me less than everyone else. Tyler knew, obviously. I told him on our third date because I felt like I had to. He’d seemed understanding, supportive even. He’d asked questions, learned what to do if something happened. I thought that meant he cared. That night, I was sitting on the couch next to Tyler.

His friend Marcus was telling some story about a camping trip, and everyone was howling with laughter. I felt the aura starting. That’s what they call it. The warning signs before a seizure. It’s hard to explain. Everything gets kind of distant and echoey. I get this metallic taste in my mouth. My vision starts to tunnel. I grabbed Tyler’s arm.

Something’s wrong, I whispered. He looked at me and I saw this flash of panic in his eyes. Not the good kind of panic. Not the I need to help you kind. It was more like annoyance mixed with fear. Fear of embarrassment. Are you sure? He asked quietly. Can you just go to the bathroom? I couldn’t answer. The seizure h!t me like a wave crashing over my head. I don’t remember much after that.

Seizures kind of erased themselves from your memory while they’re happening. But I remember bits and pieces. The feeling of falling, the sound of someone screaming, the taste of bl00d in my mouth because I’d bitten my tongue. When I came to, I was on the floor. My head was throbbing.

There was a pillow under it. Someone had done that much at least. But I was alone on the floor. The entire group of Tyler’s friends was standing back against the walls, staring at me like I was some kind of science experiment gone wrong. A few of them had their phones out recording maybe or pretending they were about to call for help but hadn’t actually done it yet.

And Tyler. Tyler was standing about 6 ft away from me, his hands in his pockets, talking to Marcus in a low voice, not kneeling next to me, not holding my hand, not asking if I was okay, just standing there trying to act casual like I was some stranger who’d wandered into his apartment and collapsed.

I tried to sit up and my friend Melissa, the only person there I actually knew besides Tyler, rushed over. She’d been in the bathroom when it happened, she told me later. She helped me into a sitting position. Rachel, “Oh my god, are you okay?” Her voice was shaking. “How long was I gone? What happened?” “I’m fine,” I mumbled, though I wasn’t.

My whole body felt like I’d been h!t by a truck. “I need water.” Melissa got me water. Tyler still hadn’t moved. He was watching me now, but from a distance, and there was this look on his face I’d never seen before. It wasn’t concern. It was mortification. He was embarrassed of me. One of his friends, a guy named Derek, finally spoke up.

“Dude, is she all right? Should we call someone?” “She’s fine,” Tyler said quickly. “This happens sometimes. She’s got a thing. She’ll be okay in a minute.” “A thing?” That’s what he called it. Like it was a quirky personality trait and not a serious medical condition. Melissa helped me to Tyler’s bedroom. I lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened.

Tyler didn’t come to check on me for 20 minutes. When he finally did, he closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed, not looking at me. “Are you okay?” he asked. “What do you think?” I didn’t know what to do. You could have stayed with me. You could have made sure I didn’t h!t my head. You could have My voice cracked.

You could have acted like you cared. I do care. I just Everyone was there, Rachel. They don’t know about your condition. It was a lot. So, you were embarrassed. He didn’t answer, which was an answer in itself. I need to go home, I said. You should rest here. You’re not in any shape to I’m leaving. Melissa drove me home. I didn’t talk the whole way.

When I got to my apartment, I went straight to bed and stared at the wall until I fell asleep. Tyler texted me the next morning. Just a simple hope you’re feeling better. nothing about what had happened, nothing about how he’d acted. I didn’t respond. 3 days later, he called. I let it go to voicemail. He called again.

I answered on the fifth call. Rachel, come on. You can’t just ignore me forever. I’m not ignoring you. I’m thinking about what? About whether I want to be with someone who’s ashamed of me. There was a long pause. I’m not ashamed of you. You stood 6 feet away from me while I was on the floor having a seizure.

Your friends were standing around filming me or whatever they were doing, and you just stood there. You didn’t help me, Tyler. You didn’t even try. I froze. People freeze in emergencies. That’s normal. No, you didn’t freeze. You made a choice. You chose your reputation over me. That’s not fair. What’s not fair is having a boyfriend who treats you like a burden the second things get difficult.

He got defensive after that. We argued for maybe 30 minutes, going in circles. He kept saying I was overreacting, that I didn’t understand, how awkward the situation was, that his friends were asking questions and he didn’t know how to explain. I kept saying that none of that mattered, that when someone you love is in trouble, you help them.

Period. We didn’t break up that day. I wasn’t ready. Part of me still wanted to believe he’d realize what he’d done wrong and apologized properly. Part of me still loved him or loved the version of him I’d created in my head. But things were different after that. Every time we hung out, I felt this distance between us.

He was more careful around me, like I was fragile, but not in a protective way, more like I was something that might break and inconvenience him. The week after that phone call, I started noticing little things. Tyler would check his phone constantly when we were together. He’d make excuses to cut our dates short. When I suggested we hang out with his friends again, he’d change the subject or say they were busy.

It was like he was creating this separate compartment in his life where I didn’t exist. One night about 10 days after the seizure, I was at his apartment again. Just the two of us this time. We were watching a movie, but I couldn’t focus. I kept thinking about that night about the way he’d stood there doing nothing while I was on the floor.

Can we talk about what happened? I asked, pausing the movie. Tyler sighed. I thought we already did. No, you got defensive and we argued. We never actually talked about it. What do you want me to say, Rachel? I’m sorry. Okay. I’m sorry I didn’t react the way you wanted me to, the way I wanted you to, Tyler.

I could have seriously hurt myself. I could have h!t my head. I could have stopped breathing. There are real dangers with seizures. But you were fine. That’s not the point. The point is, you didn’t know I’d be fine. You just assumed. And you prioritized looking cool in front of your friends over making sure I was safe. He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated.

You’re making this into such a big thing. It was one moment, one bad moment. We’ve been together for 2 years, Rachel. Doesn’t that count for something? It does. That’s why this hurts so much because I thought those two years meant you’d be there for me when it mattered. I am here for you. Are you? Because it doesn’t feel like it.

We went back and forth like that for another hour. He kept minimizing what had happened and I kept trying to make him understand why it was such a big deal. Eventually, I got tired and went home. Neither of us had really heard the other. 2 weeks after the seizure, we went to dinner with some of his co-workers. I was nervous about it.

Would he act the same way if something happened again? Would he pretend he didn’t know me? I took my medication early, drank water, did everything I was supposed to do to minimize risks. The dinner went fine, but at one point, one of his co-workers, a woman named Jennifer, asked how we met. Tyler told the story.

We’d met at a mutual friend’s birthday party. Then Jennifer asked how long we’d been together. 2 years, I said. Wow, that’s serious. Jennifer said, smiling. You guys thinking about the future? Moving in together, maybe? Tyler laughed. Not a happy laugh, a nervous, dismissive laugh. We’re taking it slow. Rachel’s got some stuff she’s dealing with health-wise.

It’s not really the right time. I felt like I’d been slapped. He’d made it sound like I was some kind of project he was managing, not his girlfriend. I didn’t say anything at dinner. I smiled and nodded and pretended everything was fine. But when we got back to his car, I turned to him. What did you mean by that? By what? The thing about my health. The way you said it.

I was just being honest. You do have health stuff going on. You made it sound like I’m some kind of problem, like you’re waiting for me to get better before you can commit to me. That’s not what I meant. Then what did you mean? He didn’t answer. He started the car and drove me home in silence. When he pulled up in front of my building, I got out without saying goodbye.

That night, I called Melissa. I told her everything. The dinner, the seizure, the way Tyler had been acting. She listened without interrupting. “You know what you need to do,” she said when I was done. “I know. So why haven’t you done it? Because I keep thinking maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m being too sensitive. Maybe Rachel, stop.

You almost passed away in front of him and he didn’t help you. That’s not sensitivity. That’s self-preservation. You’re recognizing what’s real.” She was right. I knew she was right. But knowing something and doing something are two different things. I decided to test him. I know that sounds manipulative, but I needed to know for sure.

I needed to see if he was capable of showing up for me. I texted him and said I wasn’t feeling well, that I was worried about having another seizure. I asked if he could come over just to be there in case something happened. He responded 2 hours later. I’ve got a thing tonight. Can you call your sister? I didn’t have a sister.

He knew that he was just trying to pawn me off on someone else. Stared at that text for a long time. Then I called my mom. She lived about 40 minutes away, but she got in her car immediately when I told her I wasn’t feeling well. Did you call Tyler? she asked. When she got to my apartment, “He was busy.” My mom gave me a look. She’d never been Tyler’s biggest fan, though she’d been polite about it.

“Honey, a boyfriend who’s too busy when you’re sick isn’t much of a boyfriend.” “Mom, please. Not right now.” She dropped it, but I could tell she wanted to say more. She stayed with me for a few hours, made me tea, sat with me while I rested. When she left, she hugged me tight and said, “You deserve someone who shows up.

Rachel, don’t forget that.” I thought about that all night about what it meant to show up for someone. About all the times Tyler hadn’t. Like the time I got food poisoning and he said he couldn’t come over because he had plans with his friends. Or the time I was stressed about a work presentation and asked if he could help me practice and he said he wasn’t good at that stuff.

Or the time my grandfather passed away and Tyler came to the funeral but left early because it was too depressing. I’d made excuses for all of it. I told myself he wasn’t good with emotional stuff that he showed love in other ways that nobody’s perfect. But the truth was he just didn’t prioritize me. I was convenient when things were easy and fun.

But the moment I needed something real from him, he checked out. That was it. That was the moment I knew. I called him. He answered on the first ring, which surprised me. We need to break up, I said. Silence. What? We need to break up. This isn’t working. Rachel, come on. Don’t be dramatic. I’m not being dramatic. I’m being honest.

You don’t want to be with me. Not really. You want to be with the idea of me, the version of me that doesn’t have health issues or needs or problems, but that’s not who I am. I have epilepsy. That’s part of my life. And if you can’t handle that, then we shouldn’t be together. I can handle it. I just You can’t, Tyler.

You proved that. and I’m not going to spend the rest of my life with someone who makes me feel like a burden. He tried to argue. He said I was throwing away two years over one bad night. He said he’d do better. He’d be better, but I didn’t believe him. And even if I did, I didn’t care anymore. I was tired of fighting for someone who wouldn’t fight for me.

I’m sorry, I said. But this is over. Rachel, wait. I hung up. He called back immediately. I didn’t answer. He called three more times, then started texting. Long paragraphs about how I was making a mistake, how we were good together, how he loved me. But nowhere in any of those messages did he actually acknowledge what he’d done wrong.

It was all about him, about how he felt, about what he was losing. I turned off my phone and went to bed. The next few weeks were hard. I missed him, or I missed the relationship, or I missed not being alone, but Melissa was there. My mom was there. My co-workers were there, people who actually cared about me, who didn’t see me as an inconvenience.

I started going to therapy. I thought about it before, but never followed through. My therapist, Dr. Chen, was this calm, patient woman who asked all the right questions. She helped me understand why I’d stayed with Tyler as long as I had. You’ve been conditioned to minimize your own needs, she said during one session.

To make yourself smaller so other people feel more comfortable. That’s not healthy. I know that now. Do you? Because knowing it intellectually and feeling it emotionally are two different things. You need to internalize that you deserve to take up space, that your needs matter, that someone who loves you should want to meet those needs, not resent them.

I cried during that session. Not sad tears exactly, more like release. Like I was finally giving myself permission to feel everything I’d been holding back. A month after the breakup, I ran into Marcus at a coffee shop. Tyler’s friend, the one who’d been at the apartment the night of the seizure, he saw me and hesitated like he was deciding whether to say hi.

Finally, he came over. Hey, Rachel. Hey, how are you? I’m okay. You? Good. Listen, I just I wanted to apologize for that night at Tyler’s place. I should have done more. We all should have. I was surprised. It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. Still, it wasn’t cool the way Tyler acted. I didn’t realize how bad it was until later.

A few of us talked about it after you left. We thought it was messed up. Did you tell him that? Marcus shook his head. He didn’t want to hear it. He kept saying you were overreacting, that you didn’t understand the situation. But we were there. We saw it. He messed up. It was validating hearing that knowing I wasn’t crazy that other people had seen what I’d seen. Thanks for telling me.

I said, “Yeah, and hey, for what it’s worth, you’re better off without him.” I believed him. But the thing was, even though I knew I’d made the right decision, I still had moments of doubt. Late at night when I was alone in my apartment, I’d think about the good times with Tyler, the inside jokes, the trips we’d taken, the way he used to make me laugh.

I’d wonder if I’d given up too easily, if I should have tried harder to make him understand. Then I’d remember the look on his face that night, the distance between us, the way he’d stood there doing absolutely nothing while I was on the floor, and I’d know deep in my bones that I’d done the right thing. Dr. Chen told me those doubts were normal.

“Your brain is trying to make sense of the loss,” she said. It’s easier to remember the good parts than to sit with the reality of what happened. But you need to trust yourself. You saw who he really was in that moment. Believe what you saw. I see. Started doing things I’d stopped doing when I was with Tyler. I took a painting class. I started running again.

Well, walking mostly, but still. I went out with Melissa and other friends without worrying about whether Tyler would be annoyed that I was going out without him. I realized how much of myself I’d lost in that relationship. how many little compromises I’d made, how many times I’d bitten my tongue or changed my plans or made myself smaller just to keep the peace.

About 6 weeks after the breakup, Tyler showed up at my apartment. I heard the buzzer and checked the by video intercom. There he was, standing outside my building, looking disheveled. I almost didn’t let him up, but part of me was curious. Part of me wanted to hear what he had to say. I buzzed him in. When I opened my apartment door, he looked worse than I’d ever seen him.

His hair was messy, his eyes were red, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Rachel, he said, “Can we talk?” I don’t think that’s a good idea. Please, just 5 minutes. Against my better judgment, I let him in. We sat on opposite ends of my couch, and for a long moment, neither of us said anything. “I miss you,” he said finally. “I didn’t respond.

I’ve been thinking about that night, about what happened, and you were right. I should have helped you. I should have been there for you. I was a coward.” “Yes, you were. I’m sorry. I’m really truly sorry. I didn’t realize how badly I messed up until you were gone.” That’s the problem, Tyler. You shouldn’t have had to lose me to realize I deserved better. You should have just known.

I know that now, but you didn’t know it then. And what happens the next time something hard comes up? What happens when I have another seizure or when I’m sick or when life gets messy? Are you going to be there then? Or are you going to run away again? I’ll be there. I swear. I looked at him.

Really looked at him and I could see he believed what he was saying. He probably did feel bad. He probably did miss me, but feeling bad isn’t the same as changing. And I couldn’t take that risk again. I believe that you think you’ll be different. I said, but I don’t believe you actually will be.

People don’t change that fast, Tyler. And I’m not going to put myself in a position to get hurt again just because you’re lonely and you miss me. It’s not just that I miss you. I love you. If you loved me, you would have helped me that night. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have made me feel like a burden. If you loved me, I wouldn’t have had to beg you to show up for me.

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He knew I was right. I think you should go. I said, “Rachel, please just go.” He stood up slowly, looking at me like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. He just nodded and walked to the door. Before he left, he turned back. I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said.

“I hope you figure yourself out,” I replied. And then he was gone. I cried after he left, not because I wanted him back, but because it felt final, like I was closing a chapter of my life that I’d invested so much in. But underneath the sadness, there was also relief. I’d stood my ground. I hadn’t let him talk me into giving him another chance.

I’d chosen myself. 2 months after the breakup, I matched with someone on a dating app. His name was Ethan. He was a graphic designer, funny, easy to talk to. We went on a few dates and on the third date I told him about my epilepsy. I was nervous. What if he reacted the way Tyler had? What if he saw me as damaged goods? But Ethan just nodded.

Okay, what should I know? Like if something happens, what do I do? I explained it to him. He listened carefully, asked questions, made sure he understood. He didn’t make it weird. He didn’t act like it was a big deal or a red flag. He just accepted it. Accepted me. “Thanks for telling me,” he said when I was done.

“I appreciate you trusting me with that.” That was the moment I knew he was different. We took things slow. I was cautious, watching for red flags, waiting for him to show his true colors. But the more time I spent with Ethan, the more I realized he was just genuinely kind. He remembered little things I told him.

He asked about my day and actually listened to the answer. He made plans and kept them. He showed up. 3 months into dating Ethan, I had a small seizure at his apartment. Not a bad one. I didn’t pass out or anything, but I felt it coming and warned him, and he immediately helped me sit down, made sure I was safe, stayed with me the whole time.

When it was over, he brought me water and asked if I needed anything else. Do you want me to take you to the hospital? He asked. Or call your doctor. No, I’m okay. It was a small one. It happens sometimes. Are you sure? I’m sure, but thank you. He sat with me for another hour just to make sure I was really okay.

He didn’t make it about him. He didn’t act embarrassed or annoyed. He just took care of me. That’s when I realized what I’d been missing with Tyler. I’d been so focused on trying to make him love me the way I needed to be loved that I didn’t realize he was never going to. Some people just aren’t capable of showing up when things get hard, and that’s not my fault.

I thought about texting Tyler, telling him about Ethan, rubbing it in his face that I’d found someone better. But I didn’t. He didn’t deserve to know. He didn’t deserve any part of my life anymore. Four months into dating Ethan, we went on a weekend trip to this cabin upstate. It was beautiful, surrounded by trees, completely quiet, just the two of us.

On the second night, we were sitting by the fire, and Ethan turned to me. Can I ask you something? Sure. That ex of yours, Tyler. What happened there? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’ve noticed you sometimes get this look when we’re out, like you’re waiting for something bad to happen, and I just want to understand.

I took a deep breath and told him everything. The seizure, the way Tyler had acted, how long it took me to finally leave. Ethan listened without interrupting, his face getting more and more serious as I talked. That’s awful, he said when I was done. I’m so sorry that happened to you. It’s okay. I’m past it now. Still, you deserved so much better than that.

You deserve better than to feel like you have to hide parts of yourself or worry about being too much. You’re not too much, Rachel. You’re exactly right. I cried a little when he said that. Happy tears, though. Relief tears. Thank you. I whispered. He pulled me close and held me, and I felt safer than I had in years.

A few weeks ago, Melissa told me she’d heard through the grapevine that Tyler was dating someone new, a girl named Amber. Apparently, they’d been together for a month or so. I felt a little pang when I heard that. Not jealousy exactly, but something. Maybe just the weirdness of knowing someone you used to love is moving on. But then Melissa told me the rest.

Amber had posted something on social media about how Tyler was the most caring, attentive boyfriend ever, and Melissa had laughed out loud when she saw it. “Give it time,” she’d said. “She’ll figure it out. I didn’t wish bad things for Tyler. I don’t wish bad things for Amber, either.

But I hope for her sake that she never has a moment where she needs him and he’s not there. I hope she never feels the way I felt, lying on his floor, realizing that the person I loved most in the world couldn’t even be bothered to kneel down and hold my hand.” Because that feeling, that moment of clarity, it stays with you. It changes you.

It makes you realize that you can’t force someone to care about you the way you deserve to be cared about. You can’t convince someone to see your value if they’ve already decided you don’t have any. And maybe that’s the thing I’m most grateful for. In a weird way, that seizure, as scary as it was, showed me exactly who Tyler was.

It showed me what I was worth to him, and it gave me the push I needed to walk away and find something better. I still have epilepsy. I still have seizures sometimes, but I’m not ashamed of it anymore. And I’m not going to shrink myself or hide parts of who I am just to make someone else comfortable. If someone can’t handle me at my most vulnerable, they don’t deserve me at my strongest. Ethan gets that.

He sees all of me, the messy, complicated, imperfect parts. And he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t stand six feet away. He stays, and that makes all the difference. I saw Tyler one more time after everything happened. It was at a mutual friend’s wedding about 3 months ago. I debated not going because I knew he’d be there.

But Melissa convinced me. Don’t let him take up space in your life anymore. She said, “Go have fun, and if you see him, just be polite and move on.” She was right. So, I went. I wore a dress I felt confident in. did my makeup and walked in with my head held high. Ethan was my plus one.

He looked great in his suit and having him there made me feel grounded. The ceremony was beautiful. The reception was at this gorgeous venue with string lights and a live band. I was having a good time dancing with Melissa and some other friends when I saw Tyler across the room. He was with Amber. She was pretty blonde, smiley, the kind of girl who looked like she’d never had a bad day in her life.

Tyler saw me, too. We made eye contact for a second and I saw something flicker across his face. Regret maybe, or just discomfort. I couldn’t tell and didn’t care enough to figure it out. I turned back to Ethan and kept dancing. Later in the night, I went to the bathroom. When I came out, Tyler was standing in the hallway. Not like he’d followed me.

I think he’d just been coming back from the bar, but we were suddenly face to face. “Hey,” he said. “Hey, silence. You look good,” he said finally. “Thanks. So, you’re with someone now?” “Yeah,” he nodded, looking down at his drink. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re happy.” I could have been petty.

I could have said something cutting, something designed to hurt him the way he’d hurt me, but I didn’t because I realized standing there that I didn’t need to. He didn’t matter anymore what he thought, what he felt, whether he regretted how things ended. None of it mattered. I am happy, I said simply. Take care, Tyler.

And I walked away. When I got back to the reception, Ethan was waiting for me at our table. He stood up when he saw me coming. You okay? He asked. Yeah. I ran into Tyler. Want to leave? No, I want to stay and dance with you. He smiled and took my hand, leading me back to the dance floor. And as we danced, surrounded by people celebrating love and commitment, I realized I’d finally let go of Tyler completely.

He was just someone I used to know, someone who taught me what I didn’t want, but he wasn’t part of my story anymore. Ethan was. About a month ago, I got a message on social media from someone I didn’t know, a girl named Claire. She said she was friends with Amber, Tyler’s new girlfriend, and she’d heard through Melissa about what happened between Tyler and me.

The message said, “I don’t know if this is overstepping, but I thought you should know. Amber’s been having some health issues lately. Nothing serious, just some stomach problems that have been making her really sick. Tyler’s been, well, he’s been weird about it, distant. She’s noticed and she’s been asking our friend group if she’s overreacting.

I told her about your situation with him because I thought she should know. I hope that’s okay. I stared at that message for a long time. Part of me felt vindicated. I’d been right about him. He hadn’t changed. He was still the same person who couldn’t handle when things got inconvenient.

But another part of me felt sad for Amber because I knew exactly what she was going through. That confusion, that self-doubt, that desperate hope that maybe she was wrong. Maybe he did care. Maybe she just needed to be more understanding. I responded to Clare. Thank you for telling me. I hope Amber figures it out sooner than I did.

She deserves better. Clare wrote back. She broke up with him yesterday. I smiled when I read that. Good for her. Good for Amber for not wasting 2 years like I did. Good for her for seeing the red flags and running. Then Clare sent another message. She wanted me to thank you.

She said, “Hearing your story gave her the courage to leave.” She said she realized she didn’t want to spend years trying to convince someone to care about her. I didn’t know what to say to that. I was glad I’d helped her, but it also made me think about all the other women who might end up with someone like Tyler.

someone who looked good on paper but couldn’t handle the reality of being in a real relationship. I wrote back, “Tell her I’m proud of her and tell her it gets better. She’ll find someone who actually shows up.” That night, I told Ethan about the messages. He listened, then pulled me into a hug. “You know what I love about you?” He said, “What? You turned something painful into something that helped someone else.

That takes a lot of strength. I don’t know about that. I do. You could have ignored that message. You could have been bitter about it. But instead, you reached out and helped someone who was going through the same thing you went through. That’s who you are, Rachel. That’s one of the million reasons I’m falling in love with you. I froze.

We’d been together for 6 months and neither of us had said those words yet. You’re falling in love with me? I asked. Yeah, I am. Is that okay? I smiled, tears in my eyes. Yeah, that’s okay because I’m falling in love with you, too. He kissed me and I felt something I hadn’t felt in years. Safety, security, the knowledge that I was with someone who saw me, all of me, and loved me anyway.

Last week, my mom came over for dinner. Ethan was there, too. We’d been talking about taking a trip together, maybe to Europe next summer. My mom was asking questions about the itinerary when she suddenly stopped and looked at me. You seem different, she said. Different how? Lighter, happier, like you’re not carrying around something heavy anymore.

I thought about that. She was right. For so long, even before the seizure incident, I’d been carrying around this weight, this feeling that I had to prove myself, that I had to earn love, that I had to be perfect or else people would leave. But I didn’t feel that way anymore.

With Ethan, I didn’t have to be perfect. I could just be myself. epilepsy, anxiety, weird quirks and all, and he was still there, still showing up, still choosing me. “I think I finally found what I was looking for,” I told my mom. She smiled and squeezed my hand. “I’m so happy for you, honey. You deserve this.” Later that night, after my mom left and Ethan had gone home, I sat alone in my apartment and thought about everything that had happened.

The seizure, the breakup, the months of therapy and self-discovery, meeting Ethan, helping Amber without even knowing her. It all felt connected somehow, like I’d had to go through that horrible experience with Tyler to understand what I really needed, to understand that I deserved more than someone who only loved me when it was convenient.

I thought about Tyler sometimes, not with longing or anger, but with a kind of detached curiosity. I wondered if he’d ever realize what he’d lost, if he’d ever understand that his inability to show up wasn’t just about me. It was about him, about his own limitations, his own fears, his own inability to be vulnerable.

But mostly, I just hoped he’d figure himself out before he hurt someone else. As for me, I was done looking backward. I was done wondering what I could have done differently or how I could have made him love me better because the truth was it wasn’t about me. It never had been. I was enough. I’d always been enough. Tyler just wasn’t capable of seeing that.

But Ethan was and that made all the difference. A couple weeks ago, Melissa and I were getting coffee and she brought up Tyler again. I heard he’s seeing a therapist now. She said, “Really?” Yeah. Apparently, after Amber broke up with him, he had a bit of a breakdown. Started realizing maybe the problem wasn’t everyone else. Good for him, I guess.

Are you being sarcastic? No, actually, I mean it. If therapy helps him become a better person, then good. I just wish he’d figured it out before he hurt people. Melissa nodded. You know, I’m really proud of you, the way you handled all of this. You could have been so bitter, but you’re not. You’re just yourself, but stronger. I don’t feel that strong most days.

That’s because strength doesn’t feel like what you think it’ll feel like. It doesn’t feel like power or confidence or having everything together. It feels like getting up every day and choosing yourself. Even when it’s hard, even when you’re scared, that’s what you did. that’s what you’re still doing. I thought about that a lot over the next few days about what strength really meant.

About how I used to think being strong meant not needing anyone, not showing weakness, not being vulnerable. But I’d learned that real strength was the opposite. It was being vulnerable and asking for what you needed. It was walking away from people who couldn’t meet you where you were. It was believing you deserved better and refusing to settle for less.

That was the real lesson from all of this. Not that Tyler was a bad person or that all relationships were doomed or that I needed to be more careful about who I trusted. The lesson was that I needed to trust myself more, to listen to that voice in my head that knew something was wrong, even when I wanted to ignore it.

To honor my own needs and stop making myself smaller for other people’s comfort. Yesterday, Ethan and I were cooking dinner together at his place. We were making pasta from scratch. Well, he was making it and I was mostly watching and helping when he told me to. The kitchen was warm and smelled like garlic and tomatoes and music was playing in the background.

At one point, he looked over at me and smiled. “What? Nothing. I’m just happy.” “Me, too,” he said. And I realized in that moment that this was what I’d been searching for all along. Not some grand romantic gesture or a perfect relationship where nothing ever went wrong. Just someone who saw me, who stayed, who made me feel like I was worth showing up for.

Someone who would kneel down and hold my hand when I needed it most. I still have hard days. Days when I worry about having a seizure in public, or days when the old doubts creep back in and I wonder if I’m too much or not enough. But those days are fewer and farther between now. And when they come, I have people around me who remind me of my worth.

Ethan, Melissa, my mom, Dr. Chen, people who actually care. I don’t know what the future holds. Maybe Ethan and I will get married someday. Maybe we won’t. Maybe I’ll have more seizures. Or maybe my medication will keep working and I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll run into Tyler again. Or maybe I’ll never see him again. But whatever happens, I know I’ll be okay.

Because I’ve learned the most important lesson of all. I can’t control other people’s actions or reactions. I can only control my own. And I choose to show up for myself, to honor my needs, to believe I’m worthy of love and care and respect. That’s enough. that has to be enough. And you know what it is? Sometimes I think about that night at Tyler’s apartment.

I think about how scared I was lying on that floor realizing he wasn’t going to help me. I think about how small I felt, how worthless. But I also think about how strong I had to become after that. How I had to learn to advocate for myself, to demand the respect I deserved, to walk away from people who didn’t value me. That seizure almost took my life, but in a way, it saved it. It woke me up.

It showed me that I deserved more than someone who would watch me suffer from a distance. And now I have more. I have Ethan who sees me. I have friends who show up. I have a life I’m proud of. Epilepsy and all. Tyler taught me what I didn’t want. Ethan is teaching me what I do. And honestly, that’s more than enough.

This morning, I woke up next to Ethan. The sun was streaming through his bedroom window, and he was still asleep, his face peaceful and relaxed. I watched him for a minute, thinking about how far I’d come, how different my life looked now compared to a year ago. A year ago, I was lying on Tyler’s floor, wondering if the person I loved would even help me.

Now I’m waking up next to someone who would never let me fall in the first place. That’s not just growth. That’s transformation. That’s choosing yourself. That’s knowing your worth. And that more than anything else is what I want other people to understand. If you’re in a relationship with someone who makes you feel like a burden, who can’t show up when things get hard, who prioritizes their image over your well-being? Leave. I know it’s not easy.

I know it hurts. I know you’ll doubt yourself and wonder if you’re making the right choice. But you are. Because you deserve someone who stays, someone who kneels down, someone who holds your hand. And if you haven’t found that person yet, that’s okay, too. Because the most important relationship you’ll ever have is the one with yourself.

And once you learn to show up for yourself, once you learn to honor your own needs and refuse to settle for less than you deserve, everything else falls into place. I’m living proof of that. And if I can do it, so can you. Trust me.